Dear Dad,
I’m having trouble fitting in.
I feel unhappy in my skin.
The kids at school all call me names;
they carry torches bright with flames.
Teachers chase me through the rooms
with pitchforks, clubs, and wooden brooms.
When I say, “Hi,” the parents flee.
It’s almost like they’re scared of me.
Sorry, I don’t mean to whine.
Love,
your son,
Jack Frankenstein
© 2015 Matt Forrest Esenwine. All rights reserved.
David Elliott has challenged us to write a letter poem this month. Click HERE for details.
RSVP with your poem to TodaysLittleDitty (at) gmail (dot) com, or use the contact form in the sidebar to the right. All contributions will be included in a wrap-up celebration on February 27th, and one lucky participant will win a personalized copy of David's delightful new collection of bird poetry:
Beautiful how you sneaked in those certain phrases that made me pause, then surprised at the very end, Matt. "Teachers chase. . ."
ReplyDeletePoor kid. I'm quite sure if he had you as a teacher, Linda, things would be different. :)
DeleteMonsterfully done, Matt! I can always count on you for a fresh, new perspective.
ReplyDeleteBeen watching Young Frankenstein lately, Matt? ;-)
ReplyDeleteSo clever! I love this one.
ReplyDeleteThank you all for your kind comments! I appreciate it.
ReplyDeletePoor Jack. Loved this Matt. First a chuckle, then a pause, and a thought on how often this is sadly true.
ReplyDeleteMatt, that was great!
ReplyDelete